


The Stark Internship

by GingerbreadBaby



Category: Marvel
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Romance, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Forbidden Love, Foreplay, Implied Sexual Content, Pool Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerbreadBaby/pseuds/GingerbreadBaby
Summary: Tony finally relented to years of begging from his alma mater and took on an apprentice. What initially began as a pain in the ass flourishes into an unexpected romance, and Tony is forced to contemplate just how selfish he’s willing to be.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	1. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving this series over from my Tumblr, and taking the opportunity to edit! Hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are encouraged! The next few chapters are already written, but I still need to review and edit the content. If there’s a strong demand, I’m happy to update ASAP!

_This couldn’t be happening_. This was more than a simple mistake in the lab, a social blunder, or a government official that he’d been catty with, this was-

Well, this was a ticking _time-bomb_ in his bed. 

His eyes again drifted over to you, still sleeping peacefully, curled against the pillows where he’d moved you. When he’d first woken, you were tucked beneath his arm, chin resting on his shoulder. After a few seconds of bone-chilling panic, he had managed to gently ease you to the far side of the bed. Your breathing was even, no signs of waking soon— _thank God._

Whatever his reputation— when you first entered his life, dating you was _not_ his intention. 

MIT had been sending him email after _email_ about mentor program, nagging him with the possibility of hiring a student from their college and giving them a few weeks at Stark industries as an intern. _It was his responsibility, after all, to steward the next generation of engineers and inventors— and as as alumni—_

It took a particularly bad week of press coverage before he decided that the hassle was worth the positive PR for Stark Industries.

Two weeks later, like clockwork, you’d arrived at the doorstep of Stark Tower with your beat up old Samsonsite in tow. A cardinal colored baseball cap slung low over your brow, you’d grinned and offered a hand, introducing yourself in a few perfect syllables: _“Y/N Parker.”_

What he had originally planned _(burying you in busy work and telling you that this was what any job is like)_ disappeared in a puff of smoke— replaced with a sudden weakness at the knees. 

_He was such an idiot._

In a matter of days, you were inseparable. He dragged you along on every errand, had you assist him in even mundane tasks like repairing the damaged gear the other Avengers left at his door. He brought you to every social event, dazzled you with luxurious gifts, and found any excuse to extend your brief internship for _“just another week.”_ Spring stretched into summer, and as the crisp snap of autumn approached, Tony began to lose his cool.

That was when last night had happened.

You had finished your last day of work at Stark Industries, and had begun to pack your bags for MIT in the morning, when Tony had weaseled you out of your room and into the lounge, where two glasses of scotch sat untouched. You gave him a side-eyed glance. “Tony...” 

He merely shrugged, his hand falling to your lower back as he edged you forward. “ _What?_ I want to share a drink with the most brilliant woman in New York,” he stated, matter-of-factly. “Besides, we have reason enough to celebrate. The end of your internship... and the beginning of your career!” 

You tried to ignore the way butterflies rose in your stomach, and played it off with a soft laugh. “It’ll be a drastic change for sure,” You crossed the room to the couch, and sat where he indicated, lifting the drink to your lips and taking a shallow sip. Hard liquor was never your preference, but Tony’s taste was _impeccable._ The drink went down smoothly, and the buzzing warmth followed. “What are you going to do without me?” You posed, humor laced with the slightest edge of concern. 

“Wait for you to finish with school,” he returned in the same tone, taking his own tumbler now, “pine after you like a _teenager_.” He took the seat beside you, much closer than he’d intended, inexplicably drawn to you— _as always_. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” He inquired, one hand drifting to touch your knee, and lingering for a second too long.

You couldn’t fight your smile. “It’s only a few more months,” you chided, your own hand automatically moving to envelop his, silently enjoying the warmth of the gesture. “Then I’m right back here.”

His own smile was a little weaker than yours. “Seven months,” he corrected, thumb tracing the rim of his glass. “I had FRIDAY put your graduation in the calendar, the second that diploma is in your hand, there will be a car waiting.” He drew a long pull of his drink, trying to ignore the way his pulse jumped when he saw the flash in your eyes. Was it longing, or was the scotch stronger than he remembered?

Your fingers wiggled in an effort to interlace with his, and gave a gentle squeeze. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there.” There was such strength in your voice, such conviction, carrying the weight of nights spent helping him into bed and comforting him when his demons got the better of him. You were more than a colleague, you’d become his confidant, his right hand, and though you wouldn’t breathe it into the air- you were worried that when you left, he’d be right back where he was: alone and hurting.

There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds, Tony admiring the feeling of your hand so perfectly in his, and both of you polishing off your drinks. 

“Y/N,” he began, his eyes caught on the far window, looking out over the skyline of New York, the thousands of lights over miles and miles, so vibrant and full of life. It gave him pause. Why ruin the moment? It was your last night— you were enjoying yourself— but the nagging impulse rose again— unperturbed.

Giving him a moment to collect his thoughts, you freed your hand from his grasp, reaching for the bottle that he’d left on the table, beginning to carefully refill each of your glasses as he continued. You weren’t drunk yet— though you lacked the same alcohol tolerance Tony had. Instead, a lightness swelled around your head, in the middling stages of tipsiness. 

_“I think I love you.”_

You dropped the bottle, watching the expensive antique glass shatter on the floor, exploding into dozens of pieces and seeping out the expensive scotch into the carpet. You looked up at him, bewildered, expecting some sort of humor in his expression, one last joke before you took your leave, but sobered as you found nothing of the like. Your tongue felt heavy, and words seemed to come at glacial pace as your mind whirred with the speed of a jet-engine. _“Tony-”_

He met your eyes, and you were surprised to find some hesitance in his expression in place of the usual oozing confidence. “I needed to say it,” he huffed, a strange feeling of relief rising in his stomach. “And now it’s out.” The stunned silence that greeted his statement was unwelcome as he rushed to fill the space. “ _Oh God.”  
_

_“_ Oh.” You were sure you were in the middle of a fever-dream, there was no way that this was actually happening. 

Tony shifted with tacit impatience, waiting for you to elaborate. When the majority of a minute passed, Tony couldn't stand it any longer. “For the love of God, say _something_ ,” he urged, brow twisted in agitation.

Maybe you _were_ drunk. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe the scotch was laced. Feeling it seep into your socks, you blinked, trying to navigate through the muddled waters of his unexpected confession.“Tony, I _really_ ,” you spoke finally, the tumbler feeling heavy in your hand, “I _really_ am flattered. But this is...” you breathed out, halfway through a scoff, “unexpected, to say the least.” 

He swallowed, trying to break past the lump in his throat without success.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” you laughed softly, thinking back to the first time he’d invited you to attend one of his networking events as his plus-one, and all the stares and whispers that had come along with it, the dress he’d bought for you- the red one with the _plunging_ neckline... “I mean, who wouldn’t want to be Tony Stark’s girl?” 

He was too anxious to smile, or make some smug remark that inflated his ego.

“So, um-” you looked up to his eyes again, drawing another heavy and trembling breath, “okay.” You gave a soft nod of affirmation, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

There was a moment of pause, as both parties accepted the new world order, both processed the sudden and unbearable warmth in the room, and a second more, where Tony lifted a hand to cup your cheek and pull you into an unsure, but hot kiss. He didn’t waste much time after that, the second he heard that sweet moan from between your lips... he was a _goner_.

And now here he was here. In bed. With you.

And he felt like the worst, shittiest person in the entire world.

Today, you would go back to college. Your friends would ask about your internship, and you would get a small knowing smile, and comment that it was enlightening. He would spend nights here, a picture of you on his phone, his dick in his other hand, groaning into the silence of Stark tower as he tried to remember what you felt like. He had stolen you.

The second you were free of school, you’d be back here, forever eclipsed by _Tony fucking Stark_. His world was a machine, an all consuming, endless torrent of absolute shit. Any work you did, it would all be linked back to him. He knew what this industry did to anyone with a breath of a genuine, beating heart. It stole it, replicated it, and mass-produced it. He’d _ruined_ you, and you had no idea.

How could he be so stupid?  
  


He slipped from between the sheets, the expensive carpet cushioning the sound of impact. Searching through the pile of abandoned clothing at the foot of the bed, he pushed aside your MIT sweatshirt with a pulse of nausea, pulling on his boxers. He spared a cursory glance over his shoulder, drinking in your features, memorizing the sound of your even breathing— and disappeared behind the soft _click_ of a door.

He was in his lab, dialing the familiar number in the space of a breath. With a flick of his hand, the security feed was open for his inspection. He watched from Stark Tower’s cameras as you emerged from the bedroom, confused, wearing one of his shirts, and found Happy waiting in the kitchen. He could see the surprise register on your features as Happy explained that Tony had been called away by business, and wished her the best. 

_“-if I could just call him, I’m sure he’d want to say goodbye, just give me a second-”_

Tony muted the audio, the sound of your voice dredging up his guilty conscience. He watched you reach for your phone, and watched his own vibrate on his desk, and closed his eyes, before swiping decline. 

He couldn’t watch what came next. He closed the tab, and rested his head in his hands. He was doing this _for_ you, he reminded himself, momentary heartbreak was better than a lifetime by his side— a lifetime of bitter pills and _so_ many fights.

When he sure you were gone, he finally emerged from his lab, and stepped out into the living room, examining the evidence of your night together. His chest hurt, his heart squeezing beneath the arc reactor. “FRIDAY, remove Y/N’s graduation from my calendar.”


	2. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter! This story was written as a continuing series of one-shots, so by nature, there will be some time skips— and months may pass between chapters. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are encouraged!

You adjusted your cap, and examined your reflection, picking at the black robes and trying to straighten your shoulders, trying to look more imposing, more professional, more... _whole_. 

Seven months had never passed more slowly.

“Y/N?” Your brother, Peter, called from outside your room, knocking gently on the door. “May says we need to get going if we’re going to find parking before the ceremony- are you almost ready?” He knew better than to barge in, but you suspected he was softening the urgency of the situation for your sake.

You breathed out, and let your posture relax, finding an easy smile and opening the door.

Peter beamed, and May lifted her camera, snapping a few shots of the two of you in the kitchen— forever a perfectionist. She reviewed her work with a critical glint to her eye, before smiling with satisfaction. 

Peter kept a constant eye on the clock during this exchange, complaining that they’d never get good seats if they didn’t get a move on.

The car-ride was filled with excited chatter, a dizzying back and forth between May and Peter— both relaying just how proud they were of you.

Attending MIT was nothing to sniff at, obviously— but it didn’t take a fancy degree to detect the subtext of their praise. You’d be lying if you said your grades hadn’t nosedived after your brief fling with Tony. You’d started skipping classes, ignoring assignments in favor of wallowing, and it took serious work to plateau the downward spiral. Endless nights at the library, studying and striving and _working_ to earn this degree. And today was finally the day.

You slid out of the car, looking up at the edifice of the old brick building as you carefully weaved around the crowds in an attempt to find the student entrance. You brushed past a group of unmoving students, trying to catch a peek at what had so vividly and inconveniently attracted their attention. 

Tony Stark was at the center of the crowd, as he often was, entertaining his fans, taking pictures, and listening to fervent pitches about their senior projects, all students trying to peck and poke at the man’s mind.

You felt a knot of anger growing in your stomach, twisting into a witch’s brew of hurt and heartbreak that had been growing for the past seven months. Frankly, after months and months of dodging your calls, and even going as far as to ban you from Stark Towers, the message had been received. He didn’t want to see you. So... why was he here?

You could feel Peter’s hand on your elbow. “Y/N... we should just go inside. He’s not worth it.” He whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the crowd in your ear. “He’s only going to make you upset, please, just leave him be.” 

You loved Peter, your pragmatic and rational little brother, sweet to the undying end, and fiercely protective, listening night after night as you sobbed in the bathroom— grieving a relationship that hadn’t lasted more than a night. But, as much as you loved him, his words did little to relax you. 

Still, you forced a breath of passivity over the rippling anger. You were under control, beginning to turn away, when your eyes snagged on a girl in similar robes, tucked under his arm, her lips pressed to his cheek as her friend snapped a picture.

Peter’s words fell on deaf ears as you pushed through the crowd, shoving anyone who dared to step in your way. Suddenly, you were in front of him, and strangely, you were _elated_. You planted your hands on your hips, in the center of a throng of undergrad students— only some of which were keyed into the tension that snapped through the air. 

You could hear Peter, with his quiet _excuse me’s._ May wasn’t far behind, you assumed. _Wasn’t it worth it to give him a piece of your mind?_ “Why are you here?” You demanded.

The crowd drew silent around you as students registered the chill that rose like a tidal wave, their eyes drifting between the two of you as their minds rushed to find the most entertaining excuse. A peer going toe to toe with a titan of their industry? It certainly didn’t happen everyday.

Tony nearly flinched at the acidity of your tone. Despite everything that had happened, some part of him had still expected that sweet and smiling girl he’d fallen for. “I- _um-”_ he lifted a hand, and lowered his sunglasses past the bridge of his nose, feeling very suddenly like a schoolboy being scolded for starting a fight. “ _I came to see you,”_ he admitted weakly, doing his best to ignore the gleeful spectators, one or two already beginning to subtly film what was sure to be an explosive fight.

“I’m here,” your expression was stony, “now what?”

Tony sighed, processing the new rules of engagement. This wasn’t the fight he’d expected— and with so many witnesses, it was risky. Anything recorded here would be played on repeat for every gossip magazine to sink its teeth into.

He couldn’t allow a video of him admitting that anything had happened between them to exist. “Should we take this somewhere privately?” He bolstered his voice, straightening his posture, and returning his sunglasses to hide the direction his eyes drifted.

“I’m fine right here,” you contested, feeling Peter tugging on your arm and trying to get you to back away from an impending cage-match. “I have nothing to hide.” 

The insinuation rippled through the crowd, a few beginning to speculate on exactly what Mr. Stark would want to hide.

”I’m not ashamed of what happened,” you continued, glancing to a visible phone, and eyeing the camera. “You told me you loved me,” you listened to the reaction of the crowd, “I guess you got what you wanted.” There was the slightest triumph in your tone, content with the knowledge that each word that left your lips was a wrecking ball to his reputation. 

You adjusted your cap. “I’m graduating today, Tony, and I am not going to let you ruin this too. I have nothing left for you to take.”

It seemed like your words had reduced him to silence, and smug, you turned back to Peter to resume your life without Tony, glad that, for once, he’d let someone else have the last word.

But, you should’ve known that it wasn’t his style to let someone else walk away. 

“Hey,” his steps quickened behind you as he followed you through the crowd, _“you wait just a minute, Parker!_ I did this for you!” He grabbed your arm and spun you around, his expression halfway indignant, and halfway reckless. 

“I wanted you to have a future outside of me, outside of being some college slut who slept with her boss!” He regretted the words the moment they had left his mouth, but seeing your shock, he continued to press on the crack in your exterior. “I fucking _protected_ you,” he snapped, “and I won’t be vilified for that.”

You took several shaky breaths, trying to hold back tears that would show him just how hurt you were. “This day was supposed to be about _me_ ,” your words were low, like a snake coiled in the grass, “maybe you should have protected me from _yourself_ , Tony. Consider this my resignation from Stark Industries,” the slap rang clear, and Tony felt his skin bloom from the blow. _“Go to hell.”_

He was left staring at the space you left, stunned that even in his apology, a conversation he’d imagine a thousand different ways, he managed to end up in a worse position than before.

You waved your brother off, mumbling something about needing a moment to collect yourself, reaching for the phone tucked in your pocket, and dialing the recent number, waiting for the tone to sound before you spoke. “Steve? I thought about it, and I’m in. When’s the soonest you can get to Queens?”


	3. Treason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new chapter written between two existing chapters to fill in a time skip! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are encouraged! <3

“She’s a _civilian_ , Steve,” Sam hissed, his voice low— watching you tend to Bucky in the peripherals of his vision. “She’s a college student— and you just smuggled her out of the country— and made her an accessory to an international crime!”

Steve flexed his jaw, deep in thought. “Do _you_ know how to fix his arm?” He asked, an edge of defense wedges into his tone. “We needed a mechanic— and I trust her to do the right thing. She used to work on our gear— she’s an _asset_ , not a liability.”

You examined the damaged plates of Bucky’s vibranium arm, assessing the burns, scrapes, and scars it had accumulated over the years. “How long has it been since you’ve had it repaired?” You asked, reaching for the screwdriver to your left, and carefully wiggling it into place.

Bucky watched you intently, his entire body rigid and motionless. “Not since I left HYDRA,” he answered, finally, his voice low. “It’s been... a rough few months.”

A smile brightened your features as you found the issue— focusing on working the small bits of shrapnel out between the plates, hearing the musical report of the metal reaching the concrete. “It’s not perfect,” you informed, pulling back and examining your work, “but it’s in working condition at least. If I had the time—“

Bucky flexed the repaired limb in a testing way, and gave a soft nod of approval. “Working condition is all I need,” he assured, standing and brushing himself off.

Steve felt a shine of pride in his chest, turning away from Sam and walking over to help you with your tools. “ _Thank you,”_ he offered quietly, “he doesn’t—“

”I know,” you insisted, zipping the bag closed, and hefting it over your shoulder. “I wish I could do more,” you dragged your shoe against the concrete, listening to the scraping noise. “If I had a little vibranium, I could—“ 

“Y/N,” Steve interrupted, a slight twinge of humor in his expression, “I’m not going to ask you to fight.”

You scoffed. “Please— I wasn’t volunteering!” You shook your head resolutely, opening the trunk on the rental car and stowing your bag inside. “What I _meant_ was: with a little vibranium, I could make something new. Fix Bucky’s arm, make better suits— _hell_ — I could make another shield!”

Steve closed the trunk effortlessly, turning to you, and offering an amicable shrug. “It’s in short supply,” he observed, turning his shield in his hands for your observation. “But if I can find some— it’s yours,” he promised. “ _Thank you_ for doing this.” He offered his hand. “I’ll see you when this whole thing blows over.”

You smiled again, shaking his hand, finding the words to say goodbye. “Good luck,” you offered sweetly, “stay safe.”

Sam chimes in from the other room. “And you need to get going! You’re supposed to be in Berlin in an hour!”

Steve rolled his eyes, but stood back and watched your car disappear around the bend. _He was going to see you again._ Even if it was through the bars of a prison cell. 


	4. Second Chance

You bobbed the pen between your lips, focused intently on the monitor to your left as your hands moved mechanically. You’d gotten more than your fair share of shocks since starting this small project, working with such intricate wiring on such a small scale didn’t lend itself to human error, but you were confident that you--

“Y/N!”

You jumped, and cursed under your breath as you felt another tiny jolt zip through your arms. “Steve!” You chided, laying down the tools, casting an admonishing glare in his direction. “We _talked_ about this,” you huffed, fighting the small smile that rose at his appearance. “If I don’t have time to work—“

He smiled sheepishly, but leaned on the counter next to your work-bench, peering at the device that had occupied your time for the past few days. “T’Challa invited us to dinner, and though I _know_ what you’ll say,” he gave you a look, “I thought I’d come offer a _personal_ invitation,” he occupied himself with straightening a screwdriver wobbling on the countertop, glancing over his shoulder surreptitiously at you.

You sighed, pulling the pen from between your lips, and stepping back, turning to him. “You _know_ why I don’t want to go, so don’t _start_ with this guilt-trip now.” Crossing your arms, you could feel your resolve trembling, but weakly maintained your neutral facade. 

He rolled his eyes, approaching your work-bench now, and examining the intricate workings of the small device. “Shuri could help you. Any of us could. You don’t _have_ to be alone,” his voice was soft, comforting, and his hand moved to rest over your shoulder. “You’re part of a team now.” 

“I _like_ the quiet,” you countered, “and I like having something that’s _mine_ , my project, that I can really sink my teeth into.” You picked at an imaginary piece of lint on your jacket, “but, if it _really_ means that much to you, I can come to dinner tonight.”

His smile was instantaneous, bright, and warm, immediately engulfing you in a one-armed hug. “Good, I was getting worried I’d have to hide your tools,” he joked, allowing the tension and worry to seep out of his expression. “We’ll get something special to celebrate, Y/N.”

You smiled back, but couldn’t fight the bubble of anxiety that rose at the thought of dinner with the other Avengers— or _some_ of them, at least. You weren’t a superhero— you didn’t have magical powers, or a super-suit— you were a _mechanic_. And trying to run with the supers... you knew where that road ended.

“Look who’s emerged from her _cave_ ,” Natasha teased, looking _effortlessly_ regal in a slim fitting cocktail dress. “I was beginning to forget what you looked like.” She moved forward to embrace you, offering a soft word of encouragement in your ear: “ _I’m glad you joined us tonight.”  
_

You were hard-pressed to offer a polite smile, easing around her to take your seat besides Steve. You weren’t uncomfortable with the upscale cuisine, per se, you liked trying new things, and everything that graced T’Challa’s dining table was practically fit for a god. No— what bothered you was the little looks you received, the amused smiles, and the unintentionally patronizing comments. 

The team did their best to accommodate you— but it was obvious to _anyone_ that you were the odd one out. Bucky and Natasha exchanged remarks in Russian, Steve and Wanda spoke about the advances with her training— and you were left poking at your food with a vibranium fork.

You returned to your lab, with a gracious goodnight to your hosts, and began to poke at the small device again, happy with the serene state of your lab and again began to fiddle with the wiring.

“Come _on_...” you mumbled with impatience, making the last connection and practically feeling it buzz to life in your hands. You beamed, closing the cover and placing it in a small carrying case, running out of your lab and down the hall, beginning to search for Steve to test the device; something you’d been waiting on for _weeks_.

The whole floor seemed to loom this late in the late, and you frowned. Each step echoed down the corridors, and you felt the hairs on your neck stand on end. It wasn’t usual for everyone to retire so quickly, and you felt a tug at your gut. Something was... _off_. 

The winding hallways led you to the foyer, a few feet from the ornate double doors— and you stopped dead in your tracks. 

Tony and Steve were standing there, quietly discussing something in hushed tones, which immediately stopped once you appeared.   
  
“Y/N!” Steve greeted softly, stepping just in front of Tony to break your line of sight, looking to the device in your hands. “Is it done?”

You didn’t answer, staring at Tony with a numbness you hadn’t expected. “What are you doing here? What is he doing here?” You cradled the gadget in a protective manner, jaw set in a hard line. 

“He’s here to help—“

Tony cut him off, sharply. “Like _always_ , I’m here to save your ass.” He crossed his arms, covering his pain with a familiar offensive. “ _Peter misses you._ ”

Your expression quickly twisted into something more fierce, temper swelling as a flush crawled up your neck. 

“ _Stop!”_ Steve diffused the building tension with a burst of warning. “It’s late, Y/N, let’s test it,” he gestured to the box, “and get to bed. We can hash it out in the morning.” He looked taller, broader... _older_. The ageless super-soldier looked _worn_ for the first time since you’d met him.  
  


“Fine.” You turned your back on him, and began to stalk back towards your lab. Anger bubbled in your chest, bringing the heat to your cheeks, stewing with each moment of pregnant silence. When you finally reached your lab, you turned to receive Steve, and offer a side-glare to Tony. “In this stage of development, it should be ready for field use—”

“What’s it called?” Tony interjected, examining the small pin as you laid it out on the counter.

You jaw tightened, and you were sorely tempted to ignore him all together. “It’s called _Second Chance_ ,Tony.” Once he was satisfied, you continued. “In the other tests there were problems with the unit’s size, but this time around, it’s small enough to fit on a lapel.” You looked to Steve, “do you want to test this version too?”

“I will,” Tony offered, stepping forward and pinning the device haphazardly to his suit jacket. “What happens now?”

With secret satisfaction, you reached into the drawer beside your sink, pulling out a handgun, and handing it off to the super-soldier. “ _Now_ we test to see how _bulletproof_ you really are.” 


	5. Bulletproof

Fear flooded Tony’s eyes, lifting a hand in a gesture of surrender. “You’re just going to _shoot_ me? You said it didn’t work!”

You shrugged, resting your chin on your fist. “It’s a test, and _you_ volunteered,” you reminded, “we can’t send an untested piece of armor into the field. _If you’re having second thoughts—“_ You trailed off, a goading expression coloring your smirk. 

Steve glanced between the two of you, hesitant to involve himself in the present situation. “Tony, say the word, and I won’t fire.”

His eyes narrowed. _Of course_ he wanted to back out. _Of course_ he wanted to take off the piece of _experimental_ tech, and let Rogers take one to the chest. But, he’d learned from his mistake. “I have faith,” he answered, his jaw set, “ _fire away._ ” 

Steve took a deep breath, grabbing a pair of thick sound-muffling headphones, and retreating to the edge of the lab. “Y/N?”

“Coming,” you answered, handing Tony a similar pair, before pulling on your own, and retreating to stand even a few paces behind Steve, peeking out over his enormous frame to watch. _What if it didn’t work?_ You smothered the nerves that bubbled up, ignoring the hammering of your heart. _It would work. It had to work._

Steve took careful aim— preparing for the worst— and fired. 

The bullet flew across the room in less than a second with a resounding report, and Tony stumbled back, clasping a hand over his chest, his face full of fear and surprise.

You darted around Steve and towards Tony, feeing lightheaded. “ _Oh my God!”_ You ducked around the counter and dropped to his side, trying to pry his hands away from the wound. “I was so _sure_ it would work— I—“ you looked down to his unstained shirt, and the shit-eating grin on his face. “I can’t believe you!” You snarled, pushing him away with rising repugnance. “I thought you were hurt!”

“Easy,” he waved you off, “your tech worked, I’m _fine_.” He struggled to sit upright, his back smarting from his commitment to the role. “I _knew_ you still cared about me.” 

Heat crawled up your neck, but you scoffed, averting your eyes from the _entitlement_ of his expression. Steve’s heavy gait drew closer, and you acted quickly, plucking the piece off of his lapel. “You’re an _ass_.”

Steve helped you to your feet, the gun tucked in his waistband for the moment. “You should go bed, Y/N. You’re tired. I can clean up here, just--” he glanced over to Tony, unimpressed. “Get some rest, okay?”

“You’re right. We’ll talk in the morning... I shouldn’t be here.” You sidestepped him, and moved for the entrance to the lab, watching the automatic doors part silently and allow you passage. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He lifted a hand, and turned to Tony, protective mettle in his eyes, waiting for the sound of the closing doors before he spoke. “We need to talk, Stark.”

But Tony was still watching your image grow further and further away through the frosted glass. 


	6. Lifeline

Morning was quiet. Unexpectedly so. A HYDRA cell had activated in Vietnam, and was threatening the civilian population in Hanoi. It was serious, but not cataclysmic, so the majority of the team was sent out to neutralize the threat. That left you, Steve, Tony, and Wanda behind-- for a rare day off in the life of a superhero. 

Except, Tony wasn’t there. 

There was evidence of him; the empty coffee mug, the discarded bowl of some sugary cereal, and the empty liquor bottle tucked in the trash below the sink. Concern pressed into your chest, examining the label with a small frown, before returning it to its hiding place. Evidently, he didn’t want you to find it, or else why hide it?

Quietly closing the trash, you averted your attention to the task of breakfast-- content that no supers were around to engage you in awkard (if well meaning) conversations. You rifled through the cabinets, reaching into the deep recesses until your fingers closed around a familiar box-- pushing aside the other packages in the way. The box clearly labeled: _Y/N’s_ , and _DO NOT TOUCH_. Steve had a hilariously mundane penchant for late night snacking, and ate whatever was on hand, which often happened to overlap with _your_ favorite breakfast cereal. 

But as you retrieved your prize, you frowned to find that the box was… suspiciously heavy. 

You pulled out the cellophane bag of marshmallows and oats, setting it to the side, and hefting the box. Was there a toy you had missed? You’d begun to assemble quite a collection, since Steve had no interest in the plastic chackis. 

Your hands closed around something small and metal, and extracted it. 

It was a flip-phone, at least ten years old, if not older. There was a yellow note attached. 

**Y/N– you owe me. Ceasefire?**

**–TS**

Your brow wrinkled, and flipped opened the phone. The logo flashed with a gentle chime, illuminated the screen with a flash of blue. _Send Message?_ There was only one number programmed into the contacts. Your heart jumped. 

_Peter._

You dialed as quickly as you managed to figure out the buttons, listening to the mechanical rings with a lump in your stomach. What if he didn’t pick up? It must’ve been late there, but you’d lost track of the time difference. 

The line clicked. “ _Hello?_ Who is this?”

You nearly burst into tears. “Hey, Pete, it’s me.” Your voice was thick with months of being apart, disappearing without a goodbye, taking the first available flight to Germany, and never returning. 

There was a gasp, and you heard him draw away to somewhere without so much background noise. “ _Where are you?_ Are you okay? Are you in prison? Am I your one phone call?” There was a rush of panicked disbelief in his voice, shouting over his shoulder at someone in the background. " _Ned! It's my sister!"_

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Is May there?"

Ned was shouting from the other room, producing a _god-awful_ echo, but his words were barely audible. 

Peter hushed him, before returning the phone to his ear. "What? No-- she's at work-- _where are you?"_

You sighed quietly. "I can't tell you, it's... complicated." T'Challa was already doing you a massive favor by harboring you in his country, you couldn't risk exposing Wakanda-- however much you trusted Peter to keep a secret. "But I'm safe, and that's all that matters, right?" Then, thinking for a moment, you asked the nagging question in your mind. "How do you know Tony Stark?"

There was a long pause from the other end, and you briefly wondered if he'd even heard you, until you heard Ned in the background, asking another question. "Well, uh--" Peter searched for the correct words. "When you disappeared intially, I thought that maybe he put a hit out on you-- or asked you to elope or... something _crazy,"_ a deep breath from the other end. "So, when my class went to visit Stark Tower, I asked him where you were-- and I--" his voice got quieter, "I _threatened_ him a little bit, and he just seemed... confused. And then he offered me an internship with Stark Industries, and intially I was like _hell no_ but then he said that he knew where you were and I--" he finally paused, "I just wanted to see you again." 

You could feel your heart squeeze. "Peter--"

"Are you coming home?"

You fidgeted with the cereal box, a lump in your throat. "I don't know," you answered, "it's... complicated." You could practically _feel_ his disapointment through the phone. "I'm going to try. Take care of May, okay?" Your eyes stung with miniscule tears. 

An uncomfortable silence lingered for a second too long. "Okay," he answered, almost regretfully. "I'll see you soon. I love you."

You smiled as a tear dripped down your cheek. "I love you too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intially a blurb at the end of the previous chapter, but I wanted to expand it to shed a little more clarity on Y/N & Peter's conversation. And don't we love a Peter appearence? As always, leave kudos and comments to tell me what you think! Will Y/N go home? Will she forgive Tony? Keep reading to find out! <3


	7. Wet

It wasn’t difficult to find Tony, it was much harder to _avoid_ him. A quick search of the common areas yielded no results, and your feet carried you into the unfamiliar leisure areas on the far side of the palace. The Wakandan royals had been more than hospitable to the former Avengers, even offering their personal pool and day-spa for your use-- a gift you hadn't yet found opportunity to use. The air was hot and humid, sun streaming through darkened glass ceiling tiles, a gentle breeze blowing in from the north-facing windows. 

Tony was floating on a large inflatable, his eyes closed beneath sunglasses as he carelessly drifted across the surface of the pool. Droplets of water had settled across his chest and arms, and his expression was purely serene. 

You two were alone now, no other Avengers to speak of. 

You were still clutching the metal flip-phone in one hand, careful not to misplace your lifeline as you approached the edge of the pool, waiting for a moment before speaking. “Tony,” you called out-- almost _nervous._ You felt like that college student again, struggling with to keep your head above water as you confronted feelings you'd long thought dead. 

He cracked a small smile, but didn’t open his eyes. “Y/N,” his hand dropped to the water, skimming his fingers across the surface. “Did you get my present?”

“I did,” you felt lighter, one of the weights pulled off your chest, breathing easier now. “I came to thank you. It means a lot that you would… arrange something like that for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he continued to drift, his expression neutral, aside from the growing smirk. “He’s _exactly_ like you, Y/N. Just as smart and just as much of a pain in my ass.” He continued to create ripples in the pool with his finger, and used his free hand to lift his sunglasses, easily finding you in the room. “The water’s fine, if you want to join.” 

You rolled your eyes, but paused. You had nowhere to be, and the crystal clear blue waters did look appealing. Biting your lip, you stood and approached one of the chairs beside the side of the pool, shrugging off your shoes, shirt, and shorts. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, and it was harmless. You dropped the phone on top of the pile, and approached the edge of the pool, slipping in without a second thought. 

The water engulfed you and quickly soaked the fabric, and true to his word, it was cool, but not cold, and very comfortable. You pulled back your hair to keep it out of the water, and waded over towards the raft, the water nearly reaching your waist. Your fingers traced shapes on the plastic inflatable, leaving trails of water droplets in your wake. You didn’t owe him an apology, you certainly hadn’t done anything he didn’t deserve, but you _had_ missed him. “Why are you here?” You asked, your voice low as your eyes traced the intricate wiring of the arc-reactor inlaid in his chest.

“At the pool?” He sounded relieved at the lack of hostility in your voice, and his eyes admired your lack of discernible clothing. You still wore the same bras you did back then– with the tiny black bow between the valley of your breasts. “It’s a thousand degrees outside, and I–”

“Tony,” you interrupted, your brow knit together in a complex blend of emotions, “I’m serious, and I need you to be honest with me. Are you here to win me back?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to hear him say. You missed him, and Peter, and May– you missed your friends, and New York, but you needed _answers_.

He considered what he could say, shifting on the inflatable raft and working his jaw. “ _Yes_ , and no.” He answered honestly, wanting nothing more than to touch the delicate swell of your knuckles, but deciding it was _safer_ to keep his hands to himself. “I needed Steve, and the Avengers for a mission back in the states, and you were _here,_ so I decided to make the trip.” 

Some part of you was disappointed, but you shoved it down and focused on the task at hand. That was what your life had become. Tackling things one at a time, trying to tread water to keep from drowning. Steve was nice, Wakanda was beautiful… but you didn’t belong here. You were an engineer, not a superhero. A few months ago, this would’ve been enough for you to take the next flight home with him–- but not now, not after everything he’d said and done. “I don’t understand,” you said finally, “ _why.”_ You retracted your hand from the raft, and withdrew, leaving a palpable divide between the two of you. _You said you loved me._ The words couldn’t leave your lips. 

He was at an impasse. This was where the two roads divided. He could say something callous, and lose you forever, but protect you from men like him–- men who would say whatever it took to get you back, and treat you with as much reverence as a discarded toy. Or he could apologize, embrace you, and steal you for himself–- knowing that you’d always wonder whether or not his affections were genuine. It was the same one he’d crumbled at all those months ago, when he saw you in his bed and felt so _satisfied_ for the first time in his life– and he’d sent you away. Nights spent drinking, lamenting his selflessness, his cowardice, and most of all– how he _couldn’t_ stop loving you. “I don’t either,” he responded, his breathing shallow and painful. _How could he be stupid enough to let you go?_ “I never meant to hurt you.”

Your short scoff was soaked in pain, heartbreak, and lost naivety. “Really? What message did you hope to portray by sending Happy to throw me out the morning after?” It was barbed, venomous, and _hurt._

“I–” he sighed, wishing you weren’t so very _far_ from him. He wanted to touch your face, let his thumb gently caress your cheekbone, see those pretty eyes look at him again. “I was afraid.” He let his legs dangle off the edge of the inflatable, water lapping at his ankles. “You’re _young,_ and smart, and you scare the hell out of me.” With a inward breath, he slid off the raft, sending out a wave of ripples through the pool. “I loved you, and I didn’t want to _hurt_ you.”

“So your solution was to hurt me?” His words soothed your old wounds, like ointment on an intense burn–- it cooled your anger, but it didn’t satisfy you. “Tony, we're both adults! If you had just _talked_ to me, I would’ve understood!”

_“No,_ you wouldn’t have!” He snapped, his eyes locked on yours as he took a small step towards you. “You would’ve kissed me and told me that you didn’t care what people said about you–- and that you loved me–- and I wouldn’t have been able to let you go!” It was a confession wrenched from his sealed lips, the situation that he’d imagined a thousand times since he’d sent you away–- the only thing that reassured him that he’d made the right choice. 

“ _And this is so much better?”_ You asked, your eyes dropping to the gleaming blue waters. “We’re both so happy?” 

“No,” he admitted weakly, the truth bitter and tart, “we’re miserable.” He crossed the short distance between you with little hesitation, and gingerly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into an hesitant embrace. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair, reminding himself to savor this, the last moment he had you in his arms. “For _everything_.” 

There it was. The apology you'd been waiting for-- months and months of resentment and anger and _heartbreak_ all piled high-- trembling under the weight of those two perfect words. _You didn't have to accept it, a small voice in your head reasoned. Push him away-- tell him everything he put you through. Tell him you don't love him anymore!_ You waved the intrusive thought away, carefully winding your arms around his waist, and resting your forehead against his chest. “What now?” The words were painful to say, but it was clear that this was the last hurrah–- the last embers of a dying fire. 

_God, he was so selfish._ “I want you to come with me,” he admitted. “I want you to come home.“ He withdrew, his hands lingering on your biceps, reading your expression. “Peter misses you,” and then, more quietly, “ _I_ miss you.” 

You were silent, peering up at him with those shining eyes. 

He touched your cheek, and smiled–- though it was stiff and hollow. “I _love_ you.” He offered, his chest swelling at the admission he’d been thinking for the past five months. “I _want_ you.” His index finger hooked below your chin, tilting your face up, and laying a kiss on your lips. 

It was soft, and sweet, and it carried the weight of months apart. It was everything you’d wanted. _So much wasted time._ You melted into the embrace, hands looping around his neck to pull him closer. 

His own slid lower, past your waist, and effortlessly lifted you off your feet–- lips still attached to yours. His breathing was heavy now, and he carried you to the edge of the pool, depositing you on the stone ledge. His skin had flushed a lovely shade of scarlet, and he was panting as his eyes darkened. “Can I…”

“Yes,” you interrupted, “please, God, _yes_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final pre-written chapter of the Stark Internship! From here on out, it will be entirely new content, as I try to bring the story to a close! I'm super pleased with the reception of the story, and I'd love to hear from you! Kudos and comments are encouraged-- the next chapter is set to be a spicy one! <3


	8. Heat

The sun-warmed water lapped at your skin as Tony’s hands fidgeted around the clasp to your bra. There was hesitation, uncertainty in his actions, but he pressed forward, with one final glance towards the door to ensure your privacy. He undid your bra with a practiced grace, tossing the wet bundle behind you, and examining the newly revealed flesh. He gingerly caressed one of your breasts, as if measuring the weight in his hand, and carefully lowered his mouth to the supple skin. He could taste the chlorine on your skin, eyes flicking up to yours as he laid a line of hurried kisses down the valley of your breasts. He wanted to  _ savor _ this, remember  _ every  _ part, from the way you scrunched your nose, to the little sounds you smothered between your lips. 

_ God,  _ it had been too long. It was hard not to be embarrassed by the way you ignited under his touch, the way your heart pounded when he met your eyes, the way your thighs pressed into his hips. Surrounded by attractive superheroes, maybe it was a surprise that you hadn’t gotten “any” since your arrival in Wakanda… but it was true. Aside from a few drunken hookups in your final semester of university, the last  _ meaningful  _ sex you’d had was… with Tony. 

Tony’s hands had moved down to your hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties, pausing to study your expression. “What are you thinking about?” He asked quietly, voice soft with a latent fondness just returning to the surface. 

“The last time we…” you frowned, the memory souring as you remember what came  _ after.  _ “Were  _ together.”  _

Ah. A sore subject for both of you then. “I’m not going to leave you,” he promised, eyes searching yours for understanding. “Either we go together, or we stay.” There was a satisfying finality in the statement. 

Staving off the insecurity, you nodded, lifting your hips ever-so-slightly to return his attention to the task at hand. 

Tony smiled, pulling the water-soaked cotton briefs over your hips and down your legs. He tossed them behind you, presumably close to the bra, and met your eyes with a wry grin. “I’ve thought a lot about this,” he mused, pulling you closer to him, and rewarding himself with a fistful of your ass. 

You flushed, trying not to focus on the fact that you were fully nude and he was still mostly clothed, lips pursed in a tight line. “Do I live up to your expectations?” You rolled your eyes at the sight of his wide smile, unable to fight your own. 

“Always.” He tried to support your weight with a single arm, struggling with his swim trunks, and cursing under his breath. “Goddamnit, can you--”

Without a word, your hands overtook his own, effortlessly pushing down the elastic waistband, allowing it to harmlessly linger around his thighs. “Good enough?” A simple glance informed you that the scientist was  _ more  _ than happy to have you in his arms again. The thought filled you with a smug pride, after all these months, a few kisses, and a little groping reduced him to a blushing teenager. He lost the bravado, the character of Tony Stark, he was just… Tony. 

He let your curious eyes roam, focusing on the  _ urgent  _ task at hand. He let his hand drift between your thighs, gauging your arousal, and tempering his expectations. You needed a little more attention before you were ready for him, and he was then happy to oblige. He pulled you closer, leaving you the slimmest of supports to balance your weight on, and returning to his previous task of paving your soft skin with sloppy and hurried kisses. His hands roamed the uncovered expanses of your skin, before finally settling back between your thighs, using the added slick of the water to glide along the sensitive area, just shy of your sex. 

It was a sensual, teasing display, and you suspected Tony knew  _ exactly  _ what he was doing. He could very easily finger you, take any number of short-cuts to turn you on, but he was taking his sweet time. Maybe he wasn’t as desperate as you thought, you noted with some sweet irritation, if he was patient enough to  _ toy  _ with you. 

He spent a few more minutes like this, enjoying the way your breathing quickened, the flush traveling down your neck, and the clear restraint as your fingers curled over the stone edge of the pool. But, as an almost painful throbbing reminded him, he had needs too. He took the luxury of one final glance, but he didn’t get far. 

Your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes opened through narrow slits, wisps of hair stuck to the edges of your face. You were serenely beautiful, and Tony almost came undone at the sight. But he pushed it back, and gently looped his arms beneath your knees, judging the angle with a critical eye, and offering a delicate kiss to your jaw as he aligned his member with your sex. “I love you,” he reminded, almost too quiet to hear, before carefully pressing in. 

There was a brief sensation of  _ stretch,  _ but Tony’s careful preparation made you more than comfortable while he seated himself inside of you. You felt the tension leave your chest, taking a deep breath, and letting your head fall back.  _ God, was it sweet.  _

If he was weak for you before… he felt  _ powerless  _ now. Whether it was the time apart, or the sweetness of the reunion, each little movement seemed to pluck one of his heartstrings. He could feel the vibration deep in his chest, and let go of the breath he was holding. It was good,  _ so good.  _ He gave you a moment to adjust, and only when you wriggled in his arms, did he offer a few shallow pumps. It took every ounce of restraint to hold back his climax, the sweat of determination building at his temple. “Fuck,” he cursed softly, attempting to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Tony--” 

His brow furrowed. That wasn’t  _ your  _ voice. That was a  _ man’s  _ voice. He lifted his head, and gave you a curious look. But, he was surprised to find you white as a sheet, eyes wide open, and looking towards the entrance to the swimming pool. 

Steve Rogers was staring at you, expression one of pure shock, and frozen to the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, folks! I got caught up in writing my other fic "Publicity Stunt" (shameless plug, but if you're a Borderlands fan, please check it out!) This fic is difficult for me to write, because I took such an extended break between writing the last chapter and writing this one, so its hard for me to find the tone again. Still, I hope you enjoy, and please, if you can, leave kudos and comments! It was actually a recent comment that encouraged me to pick this piece back up, so it really does work! 
> 
> And also, AH!!!! Steve walked in on them??? 
> 
> Thanks, and lots of love!


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